


Rewind and Record Over

by novelDaydreamer



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon-Typical Worms, Gen, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-06 06:27:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20286901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novelDaydreamer/pseuds/novelDaydreamer
Summary: Okay, it’s weird. Jon’s being weird. But all things considered, she’s filing that somewhere well below ‘trapped in the archives by worms’ on her list of priorities.





	Rewind and Record Over

It happens while she’s digging in his leg with a corkscrew (and god what that _says _about Sasha’s life). Halfway through a scream, Jon’s eyes just - flutter for a moment, and then his head lolls back, voice trailing into a gurgling sigh. 

Being the practical sort, Sasha finishes extracting the worm while he’s helpfully not moving. 

“Did you - Oh god. Is he alright?” 

Sasha has to duck to the side, narrowly avoiding the tape recorder in Martin’s flailing hand. “I think he just passed out,” she says. “Look, he’s coming around again. Jon?” 

His eyelids flutter again, then scrunch shut. With a quiet groan, Jon presses his cheek into the metal filing box that he’s propped up against, like he’s a student hoping he didn’t just hear his alarm go off. 

Honestly, Sasha kind of envies him a bit. Would be nice to pretend this was all a bad dream. 

But, no such luck. “Come on, get up. The worm is gone, you can stop making a fuss about it.” 

Martin moves in past her, hovering at an awkward angle so he can try to check on their boss without actually _touching_him. In the cluttered storage room, that leaves him half-leaning-over the stacked files, balanced by his free hand with the tape recorder held out stiffly. 

It also means that when Jon opens his eyes, he's looking directly up at Martin's face. 

Even in the middle of Wormageddon, Sasha has to bite back a snort of laughter at the mutual deer-in-the-headlights expressions. But then Jon says “Martin,” and relaxes back, full of relief, and that’s - 

That’s weird. 

“I - I got the tape recorder working,” Martin stammers out, voice high. He jerks back, stumbling over his own feet in the hurry to retreat. 

Jon levers himself up to a sitting position, wincing as his leg shifts. He peers down at it, brow furrowed like he wasn’t expecting to see the hole in his calf where she literally just pulled out a worm. Then he looks up and sees her. 

For a moment, there’s a chilling lack of recognition in his eyes. 

“Jon?” she asks, wary. 

He blinks. “Sasha,” he says - and it’s still a touch uncertain, but then he blinks again and it’s gone. “You - right. Worms. Prentiss.” 

“Yeah, not just a bad dream, sorry.” 

“Right,” he says again, and now he’s looking at _her _with that same relief in his eyes. 

Okay, it’s weird. Jon’s being weird. But all things considered, she’s filing that somewhere well below ‘trapped in the archives by worms’ on her list of priorities. 

Speaking of which. “How long do we have before the worms break in here?” 

Martin shakes his head. “The room’s sealed. I checked all over it when I moved in here, they can’t get in.” 

At the same time, Jon says, utterly calm, “Until they think to come through the wall.” 

“What?” Martin pales. “No, this is - the walls are meant to be solid -” 

“So was the one in my office.” 

Well, _that’s _an encouraging thought. 

The walls are definitely just as soundproof as they were a moment ago. It’s almost certainly just her imagination that brings the sound of the worms, writhing, and squirming, and _pressing _against the door, to the front of her mind. 

Sasha shivers. 

“So we have no idea when or where they’re going to break through, and nothing left we can use to fight them,” she sums up. 

Martin collapses heavily onto a cabinet. His gaze darts around the room, jumping from wall to wall in quiet horror and guilt. "So all I've done is trapped us, then." 

"No, Martin, it's - they can't follow us in directly, the room _is _otherwise sealed. We have breathing room. It wasa good idea." Like an idiot, Jon grabs the file boxes and tries to pull himself up. 

Sasha lunges forward to catch him just as his leg gives out, wedging a shoulder under his arm. The instant she touches Jon, she feels him go rigid, so tense she can just about feel him vibrating. Then he relaxes all at once. She supports him as he limps over to a seat by Martin, who shifts aside immediately to give them room. 

Sasha always thinks better while moving. Slipping out from under Jon’s arm (and noting the way he leans after her before catching himself), she steps back and starts pacing the tiny space they have available to them. 

(It’s just a coincidence that this lets her watch the walls for suspicious bulging.) 

"Right then," she says finally. "We've got a bit of time to think, anyway, then it’s time for a better plan. Any ideas? I’m in favour of getting out of here, personally." 

Granted, she’s a bit short on how to actually_ achieve _that, but it’s important to start with a goal. 

“Right,” Martin says. He stares at his hands. “Right, there’s - there’s more CO2 in the office. If we can get back there, maybe we can clear a path? If they don’t, er, try to - to swamp us again...” 

Sasha spins on her heel to stare at him. “What, really? Where?” 

“In some of the old casefile boxes. I’ve been hiding them, so the, um. So the worms wouldn’t know they were there.” 

“Well you could have told _us _about them, would have been useful a moment ago.” It’s a shot though. Not that Sasha _wants_ to go back where the worms were pouring out of the wall, but at least with weapons their chances go from nil to slightly above nil. 

“Better plan,” Jon says. He’s watching her and Martin with an unreadable expression. “Elias replaced the fire system with one that uses carbon dioxide as a suppressant. We just need to set it off, and this will be over.” 

“Really?” Martin’s head pops up. 

Right, sounds great in theory. “We’re still stuck down here,” Sasha points out. “I’m not keen on dying in a fire, either. It _might _be better than the worms, but...” 

“We are_ not _burning down the archives.” _Now _he sounds annoyed, which is... oddly reassuring, actually. Nobody but Jon could sound _that _particular flavour of offended at the potential destruction of knowledge. 

Too bad for him, Sasha has different priorities. “Well do you have a _better _idea? You can’t make a run for it with your leg like that.” 

“I won’t need to.” Jon straightens, meeting her eyes. “The manual activation for the fire suppression system is in the boiler room, back of the ground floor, past the bathrooms. One of you will have to pick the lock. I can give you… maybe fifteen minutes._ Use_ them.” 

_ What._

“I’m sorry, that sounded an awful lot like you’re planning on using yourself as a distraction. Which can’t be what you were saying because it would be a really _stupid _idea.” 

Martin looks about ready to throw himself bodily over Jon if it will keep him from limping off to sacrifice himself. “If you think we’re just going to - to leave you here to _die _just because you can’t run -” 

“What - no!” Jon hesitates. “Probably not. This won’t exactly be _pleasant,_ but if you can set off the fire system quickly enough, I won’t be in any real danger." 

"That's still an awful lot of danger for an if!" 

"It's a stupid idea _anyway,_" Sasha cuts in. "There are _thousands _of worms out there, are you planning on stopping them all?" 

"Prentiss is the centre of this. If I can distract her, the worms will be weaker, leaderless - you'll be able to get past them without too much trouble." 

"And how exactly are you going to_ distract _her?" 

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." For a moment, Jon looks very, very tired. "Please. I need you to trust me." 

That, of all things, catches Sasha off guard. 

She’s known Jon as long as he’s been working at the institute. Jonathan Sims is a lot of things - intelligent, driven, even kind in his own awkward way - but he has never been what anyone could describe as a humble man. His first instinct when faced with disagreement is to argue the other person into submission, or to go charging ahead on his own. It’s a kind of arrogance, born from a lifetime of rarely_ being _wrong. 

This isn’t arrogance. She’s not really sure_ what _it is. 

“No.” Martin doesn’t hesitate. “Absolutely not. It’s- it’s too dangerous, and it’s not_ right _to just leave you here. If we just stay here for a while longer, maybe someone will…” 

His eyes widen. 

Sasha follows his train of thought and feels herself go cold. “Oh god. Tim!” 

Martin doesn’t look much better. “He was out at lunch, he’s going to…” 

"He’s going to be down here in a few minutes,” Jon says, and there’s not a trace of doubt in his voice. “I am not letting that_ thing _take _any _of you." 

Sasha shakes her head. “Why can’t - we could just call _him _and have him set it off, why didn’t I think of that -” 

“Because it’s not an _option,_ there’s no signal in here!” _Now _the frustration comes through, and isn’t it funny that the more of an idiot Jon is being, the more sure that she is that this is actually him? 

Damn it. God _damn _it. 

...Fine. 

“This had better be a damned good plan, because if you get eaten by worms, I will never forgive you.” 

Jon sighs. "Thank you." 

"_Don't _thank me. You still haven't told me what you're doing." 

"I can…” He grimaces. “Look, it's complicated to explain, and we don't have a lot of time. Once Prentiss reveals herself, I can keep her still for a while. Long enough for you to reach the fire suppression system." 

_ You hope,_ Sasha fills in. 

Martin’s upset scowl eases a bit though. "What, did you find some kind of a spell in one of the statements?" 

"...Something like that." 

Shockingly, the utter lack of details is not increasing Sasha's confidence in the so-called plan. 

"You know what? Give me your lighter." 

Jon pulls back sharply, hand (of course) flying to cover his trouser pocket. "What - I _just _told you -" 

"And you're not telling me what your plan is supposed to be about. Give me your lighter, then if whatever it is you're doing doesn't work, at least we have some kind of a backup." 

After a second, Jon gives her a reluctant nod and digs the lighter out of his pocket. Sasha catches it out of the air and pockets it herself. 

"If _that’s _done,” he says, turning away with a distinct air of ruffled feathers, “We'll need to be ready to act as soon as Prentiss reveals herself. Martin, check the window?" 

“I - but you -” Martin lets out a frustrated noise. "Fine. Fine!” He throws his hands in the air and stalks over to the door. 

“Thank you,” Jon says to his back. 

“I just- I want both of you to know, I don’t like this plan. She’s not there,” he adds. “There’s a few worms lurking in the corners. Doesn’t look like anything’s moving, really.” 

"Can you see the tape recorder?" 

"Uh - oh, yeah, there it is. Do you need it?” 

“It will make things easier. You can keep this one, I'd - I'd rather you had one with you. Just, for later reference.” 

“Oh." There's a strange note in Martin's voice. "Well, then - then Sasha should probably be the one to carry it, she’s less likely to drop it. Sasha?" 

“Yeah, give it here." Sasha turns the recorder over in her hands, considering the weight. She frowns. “Is _that _why you went for it before? I thought you hated these things.” 

“Yes, well.” Jon shifts uncomfortably, wincing as his leg jars. “Better the fear you know.” 

That doesn't sound right. “Isn’t it devil? Better the devil you know?” 

"Not in this case." 

She raises an eyebrow at him, but he doesn't elaborate. 

The room falls into an uneasy silence. Martin watches out the window, shoulders tense. Jon tests his leg against the ground, grimacing as he determines that it hasn't magically healed in the last five minutes. 

Sasha paces. 

“Can’t help but notice you’ve stopped pretending any of this isn’t supernatural," she says finally, when the silence gets too heavy. 

She still half-expects to hear an offended denial, some kind of attempt to rationally explain _Prentiss._ Instead, Jon just sighs. “There’s… well. Not much point in denying it anymore.” 

_ That _pulls Martin’s attention away from the window. “There was a _point?” _

“It felt safer,” Jon says wistfully, which absolutely does not fit with them talking about his attitude from _this morning._ “It always... When I felt something watching me, it always felt like if I pretended none of this was real, that I didn’t believe any of it, then… maybe it would turn away.” 

That is nothing even close to what Sasha was expecting. 

“Something… watching you?” Martin asks hesitantly. 

Jon shakes his head sharply, coming back to himself. “Conversation for later. We don’t have - Martin, look now!” 

"What - I see Tim! Tim, _move!"_

"He can't hear you!" Jon's on his feet, staggering. Sasha grabs him, hauls him towards the door. "Do you see Prentiss?" 

"I don't - Tim _behind you _\- oh god he doesn't see them -" 

_ "Martin!" _

"Yes, I see her, I see her! She's right _there!"_

That's enough for Sasha. One hand on the handle, turn and _yank _\- "Tim, look out!" 

“Sasha?” 

It’s like snapshots. 

There’s Tim’s oblivious form, hand still holding the tape recorder and head just starting to turn, silhouetted darkly against a rising tide of worms. 

There’s Prentiss, more holes than flesh and yet still _moving,_ pouring out an impossible flood of worms into the room. 

Tim again, staring in Prentiss in horror with his fist drawing back, and oh god, Tim, no, you idiot - 

Sasha’s chin knocks hard against Tim’s shoulder as they hit the floor with a horrible _squelch,_ and the world jerks back into motion. 

“Tim, _move!"_ The worms under them are dead, but more are coming already - Sasha rolls, pulling Tim. Scrambles back to get a shelf between them and the worms, but - god, they’re coming up through the _floor,_ how many _are _there? 

Tim’s got his feet under him now, shouting something that gets lost in the sound of the worms. One hand on his sleeve, the other frantically batting away worms with the tape recorder - There’s the door to the stairs, they have to get _out, _but no they have to start running again because the worms are massing in front of them - There’s Martin, he’s got the storeroom door closed again behind him, but _where’s Jon _\- 

Somehow, over the horrible sound of the worms, comes the click and whir of a tape recorder. 

Then - 

“_Look at me,"_ Jon says. 

Sasha looks. 

Beside the fallen tape recorder, Jon is standing. 

It’s not that the worms have moved away from him. There’s no clear space. It just _feels_ like he’s set off somehow, his tired, bleeding, sweater-clad form suddenly become the central focus of the room. Even the horrible writhing of the worms seems to slow and dull, fading into the background behind Jon and the - the _staring contest _he’s having with Prentiss. Her ruin of a face is twisted into an expression of sheer disgusted rage that makes Sasha feel sick to her stomach. 

All Jon meets her with, though, is a focused, almost hungry,_ intent. _

Sasha glances to the side - realizes she _can _look away with an unaccountable feeling of relief - to see Tim, blinking at Jon with a disturbed expression. (Martin’s fixation is at least a little more usual, especially with the blush rising in his cheeks). 

Then Jon starts speaking, and her eyes snap back to him. 

“Statement,” he says, and there is a weird static crackling in his voice, “of the entity formerly known as Jane Prentiss, regarding her decision to attack the Magnus Institute. Statement taken _directly _from subject, 29th of July, 2016.” 

For a second, Jon’s eyes flick over to Sasha and the others. For a second, she can feel _something,_ raking across her and Tim and Martin and laying them open, pinning them down under the full weight of the attention of something so much more than they had ever known. 

“_Go,"_ he says. Then Prentiss opens her tattered, pitted mouth, and the _weight _lifts as Jon turns back to witness. 

_ Go. _Sasha bolts. 

The worms are thick on the stairs, but Jon was _right _\- they flail weakly at her, but they don't jump or swarm. She stumbles, feet sliding on the thick disgusting carpet. Keeps running. 

She's pretty sure she crashes into someone. And she _must _have actually pulled the fire alarm when she passed it, because when she finally slides to a stop, panting, in front of the boiler room door, the alarms are aready blaring. 

Tim comes charging up behind her a second later. And that's it. That's_ it. _There's no-one behind him. 

"Where's Martin?" 

Tim looks back too, shakes his head. "Think he was going for the office." 

Oh no. No, Martin - "Damn it, he _said _he didn't like the plan, I should have _guessed._" 

“_Plan?” _

Right, save them first, yell at them later. Which means getting into the boiler room. “Have you got your picks on you?” 

“Have I - move over, I’ll get it. And you can tell me what the_ hell _is going on.” 

Sasha stands back as Tim crouches to work on the lock. She checks the hallway - scattered worms, but nothing moving with intent, not yet. They still have time. 

“The walls in the archives are hollow. Prentiss must have been building up behind them for weeks, at least -” 

“I’m not talking about Prentiss, I _know _about Prentiss,” Tim snaps. The picks slip, and Sasha suddenly realizes his hands are shaking. “I’m talking about Jon _staring into our souls!” _

...Right. That. 

“I don’t know,” Sasha admits. “He said he had a plan - Martin thought he found some kind of spell somewhere in the archives - but he was acting weird before that.” 

“Weird_ how?” _

“I don’t _know,_ we had more important things to think about!” Sasha checks the hall again. “I - he was fine this morning, then when the worms showed up, he started… acting weird. Do you _have _it yet?” 

“Just give me a - there.” The lock clicks. “What are we even doing here?” 

“Setting off the fire system.” And if they can’t figure it out in time… well, she still has the lighter. She’ll apologize to Jon later if she has to. 

As long as he’s still around to apologise to. 

\- 

(In her hand, forgotten, the tape recorder clicks off.) 

\- 

It’s over quickly, after that. 

They don’t have to burn down the archives. The fire system is a bit obtuse, but Sasha figures it out before the worms have time to do more than start massing at the door. 

(Then comes the screaming of the damned, but the less said about that, the better.) 

When the only sound left is the still-blaring fire alarm, they decide to go back and see what there is to save. 

The institute is empty as they hurriedly retrace their steps, everyone sensible having evacuated already. Worms litter the floor, but (though Sasha eyes them carefully) they all seem to be actually dead. The back of her neck prickles anyway. 

Sasha tries to ignore it. It’s just that she’s a bit light-headed, that the CO2 isn’t entirely out of the air yet. She’s still a bit freaked out by the worms and - everything. Anyone would be. 

Everything she can see says that she and Tim are the only ones there. 

Neither of them speaks. 

They find Martin on the stairs, sprawled on his back with his hands still tightly clutching Jon’s shoulders. By unspoken agreement, Tim grabs Martin and starts hauling him up the stairs to fresh air. Sasha peels Martin’s fingers off of the torn woollen sweater and grabs Jon. 

She tries not to look at the half-dozen places where dead worms hang limply from his skin. Instead, she finds herself staring at the dried blood in tear tracks down his cheeks, smeared a bit where someone - Martin - had tried to wipe them away. 

It’s sunny when they finally get them out the door, the sound of the fire alarm eclipsed by a babble of voices and traffic, and the relief of it hits her like a blow to the chest. From Tim’s sudden exhale, he feels it too. 

Dress shoes tapping on the stone steps come as an unpleasant reminder that the day isn’t over. 

"Tim. Sasha. Could one of you explain - good_ lord,_ what happened to them?" 

"Prentiss happened." God, she's exhausted. 

Can’t stop yet, though. There are definitely worse things in the world than waking up to worms hanging out of you, but Sasha can’t seem to think of any right now, and she’s not letting it happen to Jon or Martin. 

Tim grimaces, but follows her lead. 

“Prentiss… Jane Prentiss? The woman Jon was claiming was stalking you all?” 

The concern and polite confusion in Elias’s voice _grate _on Sasha’s nerves. She doesn’t bother to turn and look at him. “Well the stalker he was _c__laiming _was real turned out to be hiding in the archive walls with an army of fleshworms to swarm the place. If Tim and I hadn’t set off the fire system, _they’d _be dead, and if they hadn’t distracted Prentiss for us, _we’d _be dead too.” 

“...I see.” Elias steps closer, looming over her shoulder to stare at Jon. Sasha feels her back go tight in irritation. “To be honest, I always thought they were just… overreacting. Other staff reported seeing the worms, but nobody ever reported any aggressive behaviour from them, certainly nothing like this.” 

“Look, boss, all due respect, but could you find someone more useful right now?” Tim breaks in. A worm comes free from Martin’s arm with a wet _pop,_ and he discards it with a look of disgust. “Paramedics maybe?” 

“Yes, of course. Paramedics should be coming, given the alarm, but I will call in the appropriate authorities to… deal with Prentiss.” He pauses. “The situation is contained?” 

“Pretty sure she’s dead, didn’t exactly go down to check.” The dismissal is clear in Tim’s tone. 

“I see,” Elias says again. “Well, I certainly hope they recover quickly.” Before he turns to leave, he reaches down to touch Jon’s cheek, tracing up the trail of blood and brushing the hair away from his face in an oddly familiar motion. 

It’s just an instant. Just a glimpse in the corner of her vision. 

But for that brief moment, Sasha is absolutely certain she sees that same, hungry,_ intent _reflected in his eyes. 

\- 

(In Jon’s pocket, a tape recorder clicks off.) 

**Author's Note:**

> Between Tim and Sasha, a minute later:
> 
> “These are disgusting.”  
“If they’re too far in, check if he’s still got the corkscrew.”  
“Why does he have a corkscrew?”  
“No idea. Drinking in the archives? God knows I’m going to need one, after this.”  
“I’ll join you.”


End file.
